Give Me A Way To Show
by ArtOfHowWeGrieve
Summary: RENT. A Mark POV of Angel's funeral. He does some musings on Angel and if they can go on without her. A bit of MarkCollins pain. R&R This is my favorite RENT pairing, Angel is my little shoulderangel.


Title: "Give Me A Way To Show"  
Author: Lady Maeve

Disclaimer: I do Not own RENT...once again, just a computer and an imagination...its sometimes enough...but can I PLEASE keep Angel? RENT belongs to the god otherwise known as Jonathan Larson.  
Warning: if you're here already, then nothing should surprise you. But this is a odd ficcy, full of Mark, Collins, and Angel pain.

Mark's POV:

My hands play around with my camera, occasionally winding up the film, and pressing 'record' every so often. I know it is beyond my biggest skill to record the exact atmosphere of today. A picture could say a thousand words, but you can still miss paragraphs when you can't see beyond a stage curtain. Today, my camera is the mere audience, yet I am a reluctant part of the backstage. As clear as the image is through a camera, it couldn't possibly capture this. I shuffled my feet. A cold granite gravestone rose from the ground, the grey color matching the cruelness of the day. It was sad to see the plain letters spelling out the memorial because there was nothing plain about Angel. Nothing was ever simple about Angel Dumott Schunard. The humbled wind wept around us, also missing a bringer of light that was extinguished from this world. The sun was nowhere in sight, giving one the feeling that their heart was made of marble. 

I quickly roll the tape to attempt to capture Collins standing opposite the gravestone, before panning it around to capture everyone else around the lonely patch of earth. Collins stood eminent and motionless, very much resembling some kind of dark-skinned god with an untold wrath waiting to let loose. His leather coat and dark dread-locks being blown around by the wind. His face shows no feeling, a mask had settled over that no one of us wanted to break.

The rest stand quietly too, some weeping silently, other staring yet not seeing, dying inside, asking "how could this happen?" It is hard to accept. Angel, a force so bright amongst us, is now silent and cold, never to move again. And her pretty shell is cover from sight beneath us. A cutting sob tears at my throat now, yet I'm too tired to act on it as well as restrain it. It soon liquefies itself into bitter hopelessness anyway. I kept my eyes down so I wouldn't tear, and shivered. I have an urge to throw myself to the ground and dig Angel up and shake her until she comes back to us as normal. If not, then to lie next to her and close my eyes, hoping for...what? I fumble with my camera as a distraction. This tape, too, would go onto the cutting-room floor where another thread has just run out, yet no closer to finishing the tapestry of our lives.

Inside my mind, I can still see her, still hear her voice. Inside my mind, maybe...maybe she isn't really gone? My thoughts strayed farther down the path of Angel's role. Angel always looked so breakable, yet she was so strong, always living for the moment. Always ready to give. Collins always tried to find something to give her in return to show that he cared, a way to show that he had never took her for granted. To show that she was something he was very blessed to have.

I guess in Collins' mind, he had never gotten that chance. That chance to repay her. But that's not true. He did more for her than he could ever see. She gave him all she could, material stuff, affection, and safety. And in return, his biggest gift was when he stayed with her till the end. No one ever wants to perish alone.

Collins gave Angel that peace of mind, that promise that she is loved, even in her final moments. Even in her final moments, she had warm lips on her cheek and a soft hand on her heart. I take a heavy sigh, hardly able to breathe, and turn my back slowly on the service. I had already said my goodbyes and this was more than I could bear. The camera marks my progress on the grassy earth as I walk away from the light that had parted my shadows. She's still here. We never abandoned her. She would never abandon us. Behind me, I hear another pair of moist footsteps to match my own. A cold, male hand slips into my own. Collins' voice breaks the silence.

"I-"

"She knew."

"...I know."


End file.
